


This Peace is Growing

by QueenoftheBritons



Series: In A Time of Traditions [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Canon Era, Court Sorcerer Merlin (Merlin), Established Relationship, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Golden Age, Kissing, M/M, Merlioske-friendly, Rough Kissing, Scruffy Pendragon Fest (Merlin), everyone knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:20:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24278758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenoftheBritons/pseuds/QueenoftheBritons
Summary: The Court Sorcerers of Camelot might have had traditions, but Merlin cannot find them. He supposes some traditions have to start somewhere.In which Merlin follows Arthur’s lead, and Arthur feels irritated. That is, until he understands.
Relationships: Knights of the Round Table & Merlin (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: In A Time of Traditions [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1752613
Comments: 15
Kudos: 323
Collections: Scruffy Pendragon Fest





	This Peace is Growing

**Author's Note:**

> Companion piece to This Peace Has Gone on Too Long (but can be read separately).  
> All based on this post: https://beka-tiddalik.tumblr.com/post/160726927715/a-tradition  
> \- Arthur grows his hair since there is now peace
> 
> This is more Merthur than the last one, because I felt it was lacking!
> 
> Hope you like it, and if you do, kudos are always appreciated and comments give me life :)

Merlin took a certain pleasure from the stares he received from the councilmen, as well as his own friends, those of the inner circle; it was nothing he was not used to, having dealt with worse looks, even glares, when the work to legalise magic began. These looks were more curious, and he looked over each man with a glint in his eye, daring them to catch it. There was a time he would itch to get out of these noble robes, to go back to his thin jacket and neckerchief, when he could not feel completely comfortable in his new boots, with his magic still unsure of the atmosphere. Now, flexing his fingers, finding the material of blue sleeves soft against him as if it were just another skin, he smirked a little, confident that the curious glances his way were just that, no malicious intent within.

His sparkling eyes flicked forward, eyebrows lifting at the man he caught glancing over, clearly unwillingly. The King kept his gaze for a moment, but the man knew him too well to not fall for his… whatever this was, just yet. Still, the lingering of his eyes meant that it would be mentioned, probably right after this meeting. He took an even greater pleasure at the dip of Arthur’s voice when he almost lost his place, and was sure the other members present had noticed, knowing the reason for it. The councilmen had become aware instantly, even the newer ones, of his relationship with Arthur, and would no doubt figure this new situation would be some sort of mocking of the King, or some prank on them. It was neither, but Merlin let his eyes dance over the men, in neither confirmation nor rejection, because he might as well have a little fun in his _very important role_.

“What’s going on with you, mate?” Gwaine grinned as soon as the meeting was adjourned, clapping Merlin on the shoulder before gripping it, as if to show that he was not going to let the warlock leave until he explained. “Thought it was only Queenie growing his hair out?”

Merlin noticed Arthur glare from where he still sat, not yet coming over as his closest knights congregated around the Court Sorcerer.

“I think it suits you,” Lancelot smiled pleasantly, and Merlin nodded in response as the other knights stared at the pair suspiciously.

“Do you know something?” Percival asked Lancelot after a moment.

“You two are always chatting,” Elyan waggled a finger between them. “He must know.”

Merlin shot Lancelot a sympathetic look, his cheeks rising as he shrugged imperceptibly, because he had not meant for him to get caught up in this. The truth was, he had not told anyone what the reason was, not even Gaius, since he barely thought about it himself.

“I know nothing, my friends,” Lancelot tried to placate them, shaking his hands, but the knights only softened their suspicious eyes a little.

The warlock listened to his friends theorise around him, his eyes looking over at Arthur who only sat watching him, and he tried to urge him over silently. The King was not baited though, his eyes in deep thought, forehead crinkled with fresh lines of inquiry as he rubbed at his own beard, still irritating him, Merlin knew.

“You’ve seen how miserable he is,” Leon chimed in, speaking directly to Merlin. “Why would you grow your own hair?”

“How did you grow it so quickly?”

Four pairs of eyes turned to stare at Percival, who was usually rather perceptive, but the eyes widened with incredulity.

“He’s _magic,_ ” Gwaine waved his arms around the warlock in an overexaggerated gesture, “he could grow all of our hair out if he wanted,” and with that sentence, all eyes widened even more, but for a very different reason.

Merlin grinned, glad their relationship had not changed with his reveal, with his rise in status, now that he no longer took care of them. Well, he did, but in a very different way than they initially thought. “I won’t,” he shook his head, letting out an exasperated breath. “For one, I don’t think it would do Gwaine’s love life so well,”

Gwaine shot him a look of betrayal, and before he could recover, Elyan chimed in, “I’m sure he doesn’t need help with that.”

The group shared a laugh, all but Gwaine, who attempted to look mock affronted, “I’m fighting off the ladies with a stick, where’s your line, Sir Elyan?”

The warlock fell into the easy banter, glad for the change of topic for the moment. There was no specific reason he did not want to tell them the reason for growing his hair a little, but there was an urge to tell Arthur first.

His Once and Future King, his destiny, chose that moment of boisterous laughter to join them, his stride purposeful, eyes like thunder, face wearing the fake smile he saved for those nobles he detested but chose to humour instead of starting war with. Reaching the group who barely acknowledged his arrival, he clapped his hands together once, eyes staring dead ahead at the warlock, who wore an innocent smile.

“ _Merlin_ ,” he sighed with an ease, an irritation that only grew as they worked side by side, “is something different about you?”

The inner circle of knights knew it was time for their silence, even Gwaine, but they shared a grin at the King’s sarcasm.

Merlin waved his arms, looking down at his robes, around to the back as much as he could see, but shook his head and frowned, “perhaps I put on the wrong robe, _Sire_?” The warlock offered with smooth tones he was growing into as his position became more secure. To have the King’s ear as his servant had been useful, but to offer advice openly, particularly on magic, was nothing short of a dream. Perhaps that was all it was; as long as he did not wake up soon, he hardly minded.

“Perhaps,” the King hummed, but the smile grew faker, the lines around his eyes smooth, “I think we ought to have a word.” His gaze finally dropped, roaming over his men, issuing them a silent order.

Merlin could see in their eyes they wished to stay, to find out why on earth the Court Sorcerer had grown his usually well-trimmed hair to almost match the length of their King’s. Both men, now sporting similar scruffy hairstyles and impressive beards, which Merlin now scratched, stood in silence, waiting for the knights to leave. There was a disappointed collective sigh, and as they left, there was a stare from each directed towards Merlin, telling him they would get the answer from him after this. Lancelot was the only one who did not offer such, only lifting his eyes in a knowing look, and Merlin should have known that he would be the knight to first understand the gesture.

Once the men left, leaving the nestlike, raven haired man opposite the scruffy blonde, there was a silence, before Arthur dropped his fake grin in favour of a sterner expression. He seemed irritated, more than angry, but neither was the emotion Merlin wished to elicit in his King.

“Are you mocking me again, Merlin?” Arthur asked, placing two fingers against the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes, a tense headache building before the warlock could even give an answer. In times of peace, there were only the little things Merlin could do to humble his King, but again, he had not enchanted his hair for such a purpose.

“Perhaps,” he grinned, because, what was the point of being so close with the King if you couldn’t have a _little_ fun?

“I should have-” and he stops himself quickly, in an instant, the words caught in his throat before he might say something he regrets, but Merlin knew exactly what was going to be said, and both men knew he could tell. Because in moments of joy, in jests, they might forget, sometimes. That there were jokes, and there were mistakes, and one should never mix the two, because the Court Sorcerer still had nightmares of days past, long past, where he smelt the fire and choked on invisible smoke when he woke, and the King could not erase the choices of his father’s, or his own, reign. Arthur scratched a finger against his nose and looked away, sniffing, “I should put you in the stocks for this,” he recovers, not so quickly, but the moment moves on, because they cannot dwell. Because times have changed, and Arthur is a good King, he is what the destinies promised he would be, but he was human, too, and mistakes crept up on them, sometimes.

“I’m sure somebody told me that is only a punishment for peasants,” Merlin helps him recover, tilting his chin up as he speaks in his haughtiest voice he has perfected while speaking to nobles he takes a disliking to; they are so focused on themselves, they cannot recognise how he mocks them. Arthur always notices, and when the day is done, he has words with his Court Sorcerer, occasionally objects are thrown. Some hit their mark, some unfortunately boomerang – through no magical intervention, of course – and hit their thrower.

The King rolled his eyes, “I can make you a peasant and _then_ put you in the stocks for your remaining days,” he smirks, “at this moment, nothing would give me a greater pleasure.”

“Did this meeting have a point, Sire?” Merlin asked, hating the gleam of victory in his insufferable partner’s eyes.

“You know exactly the point, _Mer_ lin,” the King stepped closer to him, leaving little space between them. “What is the meaning of it, then?”

“I thought I was mocking you?”

Arthur groaned, ready to pull his hair out for two reasons now, “there are other ways of doing that,” he squinted, moving his head in closer, inspecting Merlin closely. “No, there is something else.”

“You think so?”

“You’ve seen how irritating _this_ ,” he grabbed at his messy hair, too long for him to handle, “has been. There are easier ways to mock me,”

Merlin squinted now, a frown and smirk slowly forming on his face, “did you just admit to being _mockable?_ ”

Arthur’s expression dropped as soon as he finished, and he crossed his arms, “you have to tell me, I am ordering you to tell me.”

Merlin hummed, scratching his beard in a thoughtful way because it clearly annoyed the other man and it was actually something he wanted to make use of while he could, “you know I’ve never been quite good at doing as I’m told.” He shrugged, trying to appear helpless.

“ _Merlin_ ,” the King spoke through gritted teeth. “You cannot mock me, or the traditions of Camelot so blatantly,” he put a hand across his face, “the nobles won’t like it, and I cannot simply tell them that you were only trying to make a mockery of _me_.”

The warlock did actually take pause then, expression turning blank, not totally having thought this through; Gaius was right, he had not changed greatly since becoming Court Sorcerer. While he did make some good decisions, helped Arthur make his own, there were some diplomatic ones it would take time for him to think over sometimes.

“You know that was never my intent,” he spoke seriously now.

Arthur removed his hand, offering the warlock a kind but severe stare, “ _I_ do, but I do not want my council to believe words of those who play their own game.”

Merlin nodded, understanding, because he did. The choice to grow his hair had been a quick decision, so now he had time to hear things he might have thought about if he had not rushed the choice, it did all make sense. His head dropped slightly, teeth biting on his lip.

His King grabbed his hands in a kind gesture, one that came out most prominently behind closed doors, but they were aware that the castle knew of their relationship. They took no pains to hide it, in truth, but when they could easily, they did. Right now, though, they were together, alone, and Merlin felt his destiny’s breath against his skin as the man stepped even closer, staring at him with soft but questioning eyes.

“Why have you done it?”

Merlin grasped the hands a little tighter and whispered, “Court Sorcerer’s have no traditions I know of.” He saw the confusion sweep across Arthur’s face before it settled, and he shook his head, “Gaius might know some, but I had little time to check.”

“I’m not sure you’re making complete sense,”

“Let me finish then, Clotpole.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, but shut his mouth.

“You told me of your tradition, the reason you’ve grown your hair out. And, I thought, I might follow a similar line. It has been long since there has been peace for my kind, too, and the Druids see me as their Lord. It might be symbolic to them, for the same reason as your tradition.”

“Is that true?” Arthur’s voice dropped.

Merlin nodded, forehead brushing past Arthur’s own, “I think if we could use these traditions, make similar ones, it shows our unity even more.” He let silence fall, then, as Arthur considered it.

“I… I am surprised you had given it this much thought,” the King huffed a laugh, but turned more serious. “I think it’s a wonderful idea; a simple, but visible, way to show the peace between our peoples.”

“Thank you,” Merlin smiled softly, tenderly, but the corner turned into a small smirk as he lightened the mood, “plus, mine isn’t so long yet that it is as irritating as yours.”

Arthur smiled pleasantly, too pleasantly, “I will be there to laugh when it is,” his eyes twinkled cruelly, but Merlin could not help but laugh.

“I like your hair long, Arthur,” he pushed away slightly, so that they could take each other in properly.

“I’m glad it is aesthetically pleasing, at least,” the King rolled his eyes.

“Plus,” Merlin waggled his eyebrows a little with mischief, eyes flicking down to Arthur’s lips, the tender moment shared making him ache for a little more closeness, “it’s easier for me to do this.”

Arthur’s face almost crossed into confusion, but before it had the chance, there was a hand not too roughly rushing through the back of his hair, gripping with a firmness of confidence surged with nervous energy, and Merlin pressed their lips together, first softly, but then pushing in to the lines he had grown familiar with over the years. It was not long before Arthur dropped the arms he had waved in the air in confusion, one rushing through Merlin’s own growing hair as their beards scratched against each other, a strange sensation the warlock wondered if he would get used to, hoping the peace would last long enough that he could. Everything felt warm as they pressed closer together, fingers exploring the bushes of hair on the other man, and he felt like he could stay this comfortable forever.

Unfortunately, peace was never won without work, and it was the King that pulled away first, with a gentle hesitance that suggested he ached to stay intertwined with the Court Sorcerer. Merlin opened his eyes slowly, tipping back on his heels as he stared at Arthur with a longing gaze.

“Tonight,” the King whispered, more flustered than before. Merlin smiled, winking as Arthur rushed a hand through his now even messier hair.


End file.
